From The Dining Table
by gxmmadrxconis
Summary: Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too. Angsty one-shot. (based on the song by Harry Styles)


It was warm and it was satisfying. But then it was over and it wasn't anymore.

It was incredibly pathetic.

Draco lifted the sheets and brought his hand nearer to his face, turning it over. The skin of his palm was red where he'd held himself tight and was speckled with the evidence of the climax he'd brought himself to. The haze, the heat, he'd found himself in had practically vanished into thin air. He stared at it with disgust, then reached for his wand, placed precariously at the edge of his nightstand.

He could almost imagine what _she _'d do if she was here. Poke his nose and giggle. Maybe even peck him on the cheek while she chided him for being silly. Ginny was always overly cheery after it was over, sometimes even uncharacteristically so.

But Draco wasn't. Especially not now.

Memories of her pulsed through his mind. The sore stiffness on his front threatened to stir once more and Draco quickly flicked his wand towards his nethers and cast a cleaning charm under his breath. The sheets would be fine now. Not a soul would know what had transpired there that morning. But he… he felt tears dripping down his cheeks before he realised that the swirling in his stomach wasn't just the aftermath of his orgasm. It was that awful, awful mixture of regret and anxiety. He was supposed to get used to it, he knew. But it felt just as painful as it had the moment it had all ended.

There were a million ways to get over exes and he'd attempted and succeeded with them before. It's just that this time around, he wasn't trying. Maybe, he just didn't want to. His heart was shattered, and instead of looking to mend it and try over again, for some reason he felt it was simpler to just mull over what had been. Or long for it, rather.

A few minutes had elapsed, and while his sniffing had ended, his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy. His wet cheeks felt oddly bloated and he knew his fantasy had long since ended. He'd attempted to imagine morning sex, pretending the hand he didn't use often was _hers_. Why? Who knew. Who knew. He wondered when even something as primal as stroking himself would return to normalcy and he wouldn't have to imagine it had anything to do with what _used to be_.

This train of thought, however, was much too complex for the moment. He blinked slowly, letting the lids of his eyes droop and shield his pupils from the soft sunshine. He felt himself falling back into the void of sleep, succumbing to some odd sense of calm. The dark dreamlessness of his slumber was more comforting than anything else.

But it wasn't long before he felt the harsh rays of the early afternoon sun beating down on him, the glare from the french windows on the side of his room enveloping him in the heat. It was time to get up. But his feet suddenly felt too large and too heavy for the rest of his body. He could barely even fit two and two together before he walked over to the desk in the front of his room and picked up the receiver of the intercom and dialled for room service.

_Woke up alone in this hotel room _

_Played with myself, where were you? _

_Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon _

_I've never felt less cool _

The harsh scent of whiskey could be smelt off his person. He knew it. Earthy, ethanolic, _evocative_. He'd ordered the most expensive bottle of whiskey they had and now he knew it'd been worth it. It tasted richer than that usual phenolic taste he'd become used to. You could even call it slightly leathery, with those soft notes of chocolate and smoke that Gin had taught him to look out for. Fucking hell.

He'd poured himself just half a glass at first, mostly in an attempt to lie to himself. He wanted to limit his consumption of alcohol in the daytime, but it had been no good. The ice in his drink was still mostly solid after he'd finished his first glass, and it still was as he poured himself another.

He'd relished the fervid feeling down his throat, the burning sensation that he hoped was numbing the pain in his chest. He stared at the half-empty bottle with nothing but remorse. He was laying back on the bed now, thoughts flitting through his mind while brain felt oddly fleshy in his skull. Every part of his body felt so heavy now he could barely lift a muscle. He'd always been deplorably lightweight. And now that he'd drunk so much all within thirty minutes, well, he was doing miserably. He could already feel his impending hangover, even the blood pumping through the veins on his head was cacophonic.

Now, _now_, he wished Ginny was here to take care of him. He knew this thread of thought was so very pitiful, but it was sensible. She was scarily good at handling her liquor, she always had been. Somehow. He supposed the only girl among a few brothers could certainly turn out just as, if not more, tough than the rest of them. It was something he admired, he'd told her. She could protect him when they'd be drinking. (She was a little more protective over him than he was towards her anyway.)

His plan to distance himself from everyone and everything in an effort to get over his ex-girlfriend - ex-fiancée-to-be, ex-future-wife, whatever you wanted to call her - now seemed doltish, futile, even. Every single thing he did only reminded him of her. His original intent for his stay at this hotel had long since been lost. He'd stopped trying long since. There was no point.

The day everything had gone to dust, it didn't feel like it would be _permanent_. They'd had plenty of rifts between the two of them, which was to be expected really, what with them being as competitive and quarrelsome as they were and Ginny being a Quidditch player ( _god_, what a dream that was), they had their fair share of conflicts. But that time, he didn't know that that evening, when she stepped out of his apartment, that they'd never speak again.

_We haven't spoke since you went away _

_Comfortable silence is so overrated _

_Why won't you ever say what you want to say? _

_Even my phone misses your call, by the way _

It had been a jealousy thing, he'd thought. Why she'd got so annoyed at him for spending time with Daphne. He didn't say a word when she went out with her friends, regardless of their gender. Sure, she was very pretty, he'd admit that. But it wasn't fair that she got annoyed at him for it. There'd only been two times when he'd had to blow off plans with her to spend time with Daph. He hadn't meant anything by it. He hadn't meant to forget that they were going to have dinner with her parents.

He'd told her so many times. But she hadn't accepted his excuse. Not at all.

"You're a grown man, Draco. You were supposed to remember this. It was-"  
"Come on, Gin, I told you! I didn't mean to forget."  
" _Of course _you didn't! You didn't mean to make my parents disapprove of you even more. You didn't mean to make Ron hate you!"

"Gin, come on, I-"  
"No, don't you 'Gin' me. You fucked up. Seriously. And I _cannot _believe you blew me off to spend time with _her _."

"_Her_? What do you mean 'her'? You can't even say her name, do you despise her that much? I don't say anything when you're out with-with _Luna _or... _Potter _."

"You know there's nothing going on between me and any of them. And there never will be. You know that. And you've met Luna enough times.. you don't have to keep being snooty about her."

"What? How was I being snooty?"

"You-you made that face. The one you make when you're disgusted. It's awful, you know? She's one of my dearest friends and-"  
"Oh, and Daphne's one of mine but I'm cheating with her, right?"

"I've told you, I trust you, it's just that she's so goddamn touchy and all of that. And she makes you-"

"_God_, I shouldn't even bother trying to make you like her, should I? You're _so fucking clingy _."

"Draco, goddammit, I-"

Her freckled cheeks had gone from slightly flushed to a deep crimson through the length of their conversation. With how mad she was at him, he knew she was fury in person. But now, there was something in those brown eyes of her that made him weak at the knees. Not in desperation, but more so in regret. The tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes made him feel like ripping his hair out in tufts. He wanted to make it all okay again. He wanted to lean down and kiss her and hug her and do anything and everything he could to make her stop looking so _sad_.

"I can't do this anymore, Draco."  
"G-ginny, I didn't mean any of it. I was mad and-"  
"It doesn't matter. Y-you said it. And if you said it, you must have felt it, at least a little bit."  
"No, but… I.. I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything, I swear."

She kept looking up at him so solemnly, so softly, with little tears streaking down her face while her dainty lips began to quiver.

"It doesn't matter."  
"Ginny, I.. I'll make it up to your parents. I'll make them all dinner all by myself. I'll-I'll help.. your brothers. I'll pay for anything. I swear. I've fucked up, I know. Please-"  
"Draco. Stop."

She took a deep breath and looked to the side as she used the sleeve of that cute blue jumper to wipe away the mess on her face. He could hardly muster up the courage to look at her face, knowing it was him that had made her feel all that. It was enough to make his stomach drop low into his abdomen and the little food he'd had out with Daphne threaten to exit through his mouth.

_Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too _

_Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too _

_Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry, too _

He moved out of his parents' estate and into muggle London for _her_, but he wasn't even sure if she knew that. His father had never liked it at all. Him and the _Weasley girl_, he remembered the sour way it had dripped out of his mouth. But for once, he couldn't take it anymore. The bloody Gryffindor he'd fallen in love with had made him feel brave enough to stand up to his father, somehow. His parents seemed okay with it. His mother did ask him to get himself his own place, however. He couldn't even imagine what would have gone down had he fallen in love with a muggle-born, or worse, a muggle.

But here he was, making love to one, staying in a hotel in a part of London he'd never frequented before. And why? Because he thought it as revenge. It was a girl who looked similar enough to her when he squinted. Long, red hair and shapely legs. Not as freckled though, and not nearly as gorgeous. He tried not to look at her face much, because he knew the only way he could even get it up any more was by imagining it was Ginny with him.

And it wasn't even like he loved one night stands or something. He hadn't even stepped out of his room much the whole time he'd stayed here. And yet, seeing _him _had sparked this rage, this uncontrollable hunger within him, that he just had to do something about it.

Seeing that son of a bitch out that morning hadn't stirred much in him at first. He'd thought now they finally had one thing in common. They were both Ginevra Molly Weasley's exes. But of course, that was no longer true.

Ginevra Molly Weasley was seeing the other again. Or at least sleeping with him.

And how did he know this? The usual browned skin on his neck was adorned with hickeys and ceremonial bitemarks, much in Ginny's fashion. His face was dazed and even his short, dark hair looked the slightest bit mussed. But oh, _oh no_. The shirt he had on.. was one of Draco's own. Or at least it used to belong to him.

That once elegant navy button-up seemed hideous to him in that instant. Even thinking about Ginny having given it to him made his blood boil and swelter. And.. and imagining the context...

It made him want to get on his knees and wail in front of Ginny like a child. To beg for her back. Oh, how much he hated Dean bloody Thomas.

And that was how he justified his going out on the town and getting drunk that night. How he justified charming and shamelessly flirting with a girl he wouldn't've even have treated with an ounce of respect even ten years earlier. It wasn't his fault he could be so seductive when he tried to be. And he knew she was nothing but a piece of meat to her. A piece of meat that looked just enough like his lovely. Just enough for him to pretend that he loved her that night.

He thought it would help a little bit, skin slapping against skin. He thought it would help ease that pain he felt deep inside of him. That perhaps holding someone the way he used to hold her would help him. But he knew it was no good. Because even while he tried his best to get her out of his head, she was there again.

She was in between his fingers when they walked in a park. She was lying across his lap when he gave her the punishment she'd begged him for. She was in between his sheets while he fixed them breakfast. She was everywhere he looked, and yet she wasn't.

She was in the teardrops that dripped down his face as he realised the girl he'd snuggled up to all night wasn't even her. And she was still there, heavy in his heart as he quietly made his way out of the girl's house. _God_, he didn't even remember her name, did he?

But Ginny, Ginny, Ginny's name was all over him. Blazing red burned into his skin forever and ever still. No matter how hopeless he knew it was. No matter how much he knew there was nothing to come, no positive emotions from her to come into fruition ever, but the way she'd looked at him, so piercingly, so angry yet so calm, when he stepped out of her apartment that night, that was all he could see.

_But you, you never do. _


End file.
